


heart beats fast

by brevity_ofwit



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Entirely Self-Indulgent, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, M/M, but at least he already knows he's in love with Jaskier, he's v self-deprecating in this one lads, jaskier cries but only for a second, saves everyone some time, they fuck beneath the stars how v romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevity_ofwit/pseuds/brevity_ofwit
Summary: "Have you ever loved anyone?"Geralt, weary of the man’s motives, answered gruffly, “No.”“Oh, that’s a lie if I ever did hear one,” Jaskier immediately rebutted, finally looking up from his notebook. Geralt wasn’t sure he liked his grin; it made him feel caught out, pinned. “You took entirely too long to answer. Now humor me, who is it? Who has won over a most unattainable prize, the heart of our very own White Wolf?”Geralt definitely didn’t like the way Jaskier clapped in childlike glee.“Shut up,” he grouched with a deep frown. Geralt began to sharpen his blades with pointed vigour, but either because he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care-- or even worse, deliberately in spite of-- Jaskier continued.“Do not attempt to evade my question. I will get an answer from you, Geralt of Rivia, even if it means asking all night. Don’t make me annoy it out of you.” At that, he brandished his lute, strumming threateningly in Geralt’s direction, a quick succession of poorly matched notes. Both grimaced at the dissonance, but Jaskier ploughed on unshaken. “I mean it, Witcher, I will not shut up-”“You rarely do.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 372





	heart beats fast

**Author's Note:**

> I found this buried in my google docs among maybe a dozen different wips, and to my amazement, it needed very little editing! Needless to say, I edited it for another hour before actually posting. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

“Have you ever loved anyone?”

The question was asked innocently enough, tossed out mindlessly to the clearing they made camp in. Jaskier hadn’t even stopped the deft plucking at his lute, had in fact doubled down on a particular melody that’d hassled him half the day. “ _Been_ in love? Being a Witcher,” he continued after finally finding a string of notes that fit. A brief pause. “A _migrant_ \-- must have made it hard to.”

Geralt appraised him silently from across the fire. The relaxed drape of his body as he leant against a log, how every now and again, when he was stumped by a particular verse, he’d tap the end of his nose once, twice, then his eyes would light up and he’d go rushing to scribble down the words. Sometimes crooning delicately to his instrument, the usual shyness that came with testing new material drawing his chin to his chest. How this would leave his fringe to hang in front of his face, blocking Geralt any true view of the bard’s eyes, of the little satisfied smile tugging up his lips after a successful turn of phrase. 

A familiar scene; could have come from any one of the nights in their travels together. Geralt had even expected to be questioned, so in tune with Jaskier’s routine. The bard would eat, then compose, then pester the Witcher until he was told to fuck off or go to sleep. But the nature of that night’s interrogation was entirely new. No begging for more details on a past hunt, or requests for Geralt to repeat his favorite adventures, or his input on a particularly garish outfit Jaskier picked up two towns back. 

Not to say the bard never spoke of love; Geralt could never get him to pipe down about it. No, Jaskier just never asked about _his_ experience with love. 

Geralt, weary of the man’s motives, answered gruffly, “No.”

“Oh, that’s a lie if I ever did hear one,” Jaskier immediately rebutted, finally looking up from his notebook. Geralt wasn’t sure he liked his grin; it made him feel caught out, pinned. “You took entirely too long to answer, and don’t you try to tell me I’m wrong. You’ve a tell and I can see it even in this light! Now humor me, who is it? Who has won over a most unattainable prize, the heart of our very own White Wolf?”

Geralt definitely didn’t like the way Jaskier clapped in childlike glee. 

“Shut up,” he grouched with a deep frown. Geralt began to sharpen his blades with pointed vigour, but either because he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care-- or even worse, deliberately in spite of-- Jaskier continued. 

“Do not attempt to evade my question. I _will_ get an answer from you, Geralt of Rivia, even if it means asking all night. Don’t make me annoy it out of you.” At that, he brandished his lute, strumming threateningly in Geralt’s direction, a quick succession of poorly matched notes. Both grimaced at the dissonance, but Jaskier ploughed on unshaken. “I mean it, Witcher, I will not shut up-”

“You rarely do.”

He baulked at that and Geralt revelled in both in the sudden silence and how downright scandalised the bard looked. But alas!, the peace was short-lived, as it so often was in Jaskier’s company. 

“I’ll have you know I can be plenty quiet,” he shouted indignantly, then at Geralt’s disbelief hastened to add, “When I want to be, at least.” He pulled at his doublet with a huff, readjusting his position against the log. “And I _don’t_ want to be right now. So, answer the question before I write a three-part ballad on the sorrowful state of your love life.”

Geralt merrily hummed, which sent Jaskier into another bout of huffing and half-cocked lyrics. After a particularly forlorn verse on unrequited love-- one that, very privately, very puzzlingly, he felt hit too close to home-- Geralt surrendered. 

“I haven’t,” he started, and that shut Jaskier right up. “Not like- _that_.” 

He grimaced at the way Jaskier suddenly sat, back straight, as if on the edge of his seat. 

“‘Been in love’, past tense. Like it’s ended.” And fuck, if he hadn’t regretted speaking before, he certainly did then. Geralt felt exposed, like he’d given entirely too much away. Jaskier’s barely contained glee did nothing to reassure him. He grunted and looked away. “I’m done. Go to sleep.”

“Oh, what?” Jaskier whined, looking put out but not ready to give up. 

“Geralt, you can’t possibly expect me to sleep after such a riveting confession! You simply must tell me more about this woman! Do I know her, have we met?” His tone darkened, eyes narrowed thinly as he asked, “Is it that one very intimidating albeit very sexy violet-eyed witch? Yennefer of Vengerburg, was it? Or perhaps another witch, or another creature entirely-- say an elf, for example. Beautiful, they are, but scary when they want to be-”

The longer the bard spoke, the thinner Geralt’s patience became. He grew rigidly furious because, with every proposed woman, Geralt’s mind yelled, “No, it’s you!” which then made his heart rate soar, made his palms sweaty, made his stomach flip. All sensations a Witcher should _not_ have been experiencing, _ever_. Eventually, he couldn’t take it any longer. He let his rage explode as Jaskier circled back to Yennefer. 

“Not that damned witch!” he shouted. 

The clearing fell very still then, every sound around them halting. No bird dared chirp, nor furry woodland creature dared scurry at the tone of the Witcher’s voice. 

Jaskier stared at him in surprise and he glared right back, waiting bated for the moment the man would attempt to speak again. He wanted him to, wanted another excuse to lash out. _Needed_ it like air. His moment arrived not a moment later. “They are no mage, elf- _woman_ \- now shut _up_ Jaskier and leave me be!”

Ah, but he should have known. His anger only ever served to loosen his tongue, so again Geralt was faced with the issue of oversharing. Unfortunately, all he could do was stuff his sword back in its sheath, turn away on his bedroll, and pray Jaskier hadn’t caught the glaring slip up. 

One long and awkward minute later, he heard Jaskier tucking his lute and papers into its case before settling onto his own bedroll for the night. 

The silence between them was tense. He could hear Jaskier fidgeting in discomfort beside the dwindled fire. It had choked during their argument and Geralt hadn’t been in the mood to rekindle it, so it sat then in pitiful embers between them. Geralt felt the chill of the night creep steadfast into the clearing and eventually could hear the chatter of Jaskier’s teeth as he struggled for warmth. However, the man kept quiet. Geralt guessed it was his pride that kept him from reaching out like he had many times before on cold nights. 

Geralt put up with exactly three minutes more of Jaskier’s loud discomfort before sighing, exasperated, and rolling over to face him. 

“Jaskier,” and he startled though Geralt had whispered. 

“What?”

“Come here.” A shaky inhale, almost a gasp. 

“Whatever for, my friend?” The bard still hadn’t moved-- was, in fact, laying stock still, chest barely rising with breath though his heartbeat raced in Geralt’s ears. “I was just getting to sleep, so before you start a second row, I’ll tell you now I’m in no mood-”

“ _Jaskier._ ”

“Oh, alright.” 

He lifted himself from the ground and trudged around the firepit to Geralt, muttering something about Witchers and officiousness. Geralt rolled his eyes, fondness sparking deep in his gut. He rather hoped it was just indigestion from their earlier rabbit. 

He waited as patiently as he could for Jaskier to lay out his bedroll beside him, but when it became apparent the man’s slow movements were purposeful, Geralt growled and yanked him by the end of his doublet to the ground. Jaskier yelped and grunted on impact, immediately cradling his hands to his chest.

“You _oaf_!” Jaskier shouted, then shoved Geralt with all his might. The Witcher, considerably larger and of much sturdier stock, hardly budged. Jaskier blustered. “I could have hurt myself, or broken something if I’d landed wrong!”

“Wouldn’t have,” Geralt said simply, but his tone spoke a gentler reassurance. _I’ve got you_. Jaskier seemed to have heard it and settled. 

“Yes, well,” he huffed finally. 

They lapsed back into silence. Geralt remained facing Jaskier, watchful in the dark. The man had his eyes closed but his breath came too unevenly still for sleep. His light, almost feathery hair was all askew from his tumble; Geralt’s fingers itched to smooth it down. 

He supposed he’d been spying too hard because Jaskier spoke suddenly. 

“Stop staring at me.” 

But Geralt could not look away; Jaskier had opened his eyes and the moonlight caught so arrestingly in their deepness, blue so bright it was nearly ethereal. His whole face glowed faintly, too, skin washed pale and impossibly smooth. A nervous twitch had the bard’s tongue swiping out against his lips, leaving them pink and glistening, and Geralt tracked the movement hungrily, a growl narrowly suppressed at the sight.

Jaskier shifted, hand coming up to pillow his head as he turned to his side. And though the light was faint and only Geralt had enhanced vision, he was certain Jaskier was watching him back. 

“Hi,” Jaskier said with a bashfulness unlike him. 

Back rushed the affection from earlier, creeping ever so suddenly into Geralt’s heart. A frown tugged at his lips. “Hi yourself.”

They fell quiet again, Jaskier just straining to make out the shape of his friend’s face and Geralt listening carefully to the still elevated thump of his bard’s heart. 

Then, “Geralt?”

“Hm?”

A brief pause. 

“Geralt, I was thinking- something you said earlier-” 

He groaned and fell back, staring at the sky in hope the heavens would swallow him up. Jaskier huffed and chased after him, propping himself up on his elbow so Geralt couldn’t escape. 

“Now, wait a moment, before you work yourself into a snit- what you said earlier. About the person you love not being a woman?”

 _Fuck_ , Geralt thought. 

“What of it?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened a fraction, but all he said was, “Oh.”

He spent another minute gazing down at him before Geralt couldn’t take the softness of it any longer. 

“Now you’re staring.”

“Sorry. It’s just- Geralt,” Jaskier called again, meeting his eyes as well as he could. “I know we aren’t _always_ travelling together. Sometimes we go a great many months before running into each other, but- I haven’t seen you with another man in years, possibly a decade.”

“Hm.”

And so he probably hadn’t. That was because Geralt hadn’t really been with one since he’d noticed his barely-controlled tolerance for the bard had grown into something far deeper. A protective instinct much closer to affection, to _love_. 

It was such an unexpected revelation that the Witcher had panicked. Stopped fucking men-- not that he’d done it very often-- and reduced the number of visits he’d paid to brothels. 

But it wasn’t that he wanted to _save_ himself for Jaskier, no, nothing like that. He had just feared he’d spend an entire shag imagining Jaskier’s calloused fingers against his skin, his blunt nails scraping down his back, his songbird voice breaking new octaves. He also feared he’d slip and call out Jaskier’s name instead of whoever’s he’d chosen that night, and it would offend them, or worse, lead to a rumour that Jaskier eventually picked up. 

And also, possibly, _maybe_ \-- just a _little_ \-- Geralt was saving himself for Jaskier. 

“Earth to Geralt,” Jaskier called, snapping just inches from his face. “Afraid I lost you there.”

“Why do you care?”

“I-” Jaskier started, but a panicked look took over his face and he stopped himself. Then another one seized him and he flopped over as well, back hitting the ground with a forced gasp. Apparently, for whatever Jaskier was about to say, he found it much easier when not looking at Geralt. Or, more likely, he remembered Geralt could see _him_ and was not having it. 

They rested there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the stars. A meteor suddenly ripped through the sky, a blink then gone, and it pulled a gasp from Jaskier beside him. 

“Make a wish!” Jaskier exclaimed in delight. 

Geralt watched the shooting star fall, unfazed, but with words at the tip of his tongue nonetheless. He couldn’t even imagine what Jaskier had wished for. 

His own was less a wish and more a flash and feeling, images of his bard flitting through his mind all the while-- Jaskier and his music wrapped around him always, blue and white petals braided like a crown upon his head, eyes brunnera blue and filled with mirth as they find Geralt across a tavern, lighthearted taunts thrown back with a smirk as he walks beside Roach-- followed by a want so intense it ripped through Geralt’s body. Clawed desperately for the heavens, begged to be received. It took all his willpower to keep it in.

“What did you wish for?”

 _You._

“Peace, so I might sleep.” 

Jaskier nudged him with a disapproving grunt and snarked, “Well _I_ wished for something.” But then something went out of him and his tone fell. Geralt noticed how vulnerable he sounded as he spoke, voice somewhere between a whisper and plea, “I wished for love. The type that lasts a thousand decades and never burns out. Someone who’ll cherish me, never get bored, never walk away.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say.

“That didn’t sound nearly so pathetic when I’d been wishing it,” Jaskier said loudly, all puffery and joking manner returned. Forced. 

Geralt hummed, and they were quiet again.

Just when Geralt thought Jaskier had finally fallen asleep, he heard, “I don’t really know why I care so much. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of what you’ll say.”

“What?” He rolled his head to see Jaskier, staring at his temple, hoping that if he did hard enough, whatever nonsense the bard was on about would reveal itself to him.

Then he noticed how stricken Jaskier looked, how his eyes had welled up and were close to spilling over. 

Geralt’s eyes widened. “Jaskier. Look at me.”

He did, just a slight turn of the head so he might meet the other’s eyes. Geralt watched a single tear escape and disappear into his sideburn. 

“Don’t be angry. Please, I don’t think I could-”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jaskier?” He hadn’t meant to sound so upset, but the man was starting to scare him. Well and truly. Geralt could feel the build-up of panic in his veins and wanted very much for it to stop. He inhaled deeply-- pointedly ignoring the brine of Jaskier’s sadness-- counted to twenty, then released slowly and tried again. “Why are you afraid?”

“Because-” Jaskier sighed, wiping his face. “Because I don’t really want to know who you love!”

_What?!_

“Not if it isn’t me,” he finished, in that same small voice as before. 

And, _oh._

_What?_

“You-?” Geralt started, but the racing in his mind cut him off. 

_Jaskier loved him back._ Geralt should have felt elated, should have swept the bard into a kiss already, but something was holding him back, a nagging at the back of his mind he just couldn’t ignore. Yes, Jaskier loved him back, but _why?_

Jaskier had so many options-- Geralt had watched for years as the bard pulled people left and right in every town they’d stayed in, charming men and women alike with such effortless grace. 

And Jaskier had his whole life ahead of him. A future he could make anything of, so much potential humming at his fingertips. So why, with all this, would Jaskier choose a future with him?

It didn’t make sense, and he told him as much. Jaskier gave a sudden laugh, wiping a hand up his face and through his hair, tugging absently at the ends. 

“Oh, you really are an oaf,” Jaskier said, entirely too fond. “It doesn’t _have_ to make sense, Geralt. I just- I just _do_ , and I don’t know why, and I couldn’t stop it from happening. You’re just too good, and strong, and you care so much- despite what people think or say. The romantic in me couldn’t be stopped.”

And though his words were spoken sweetly, he looked sad. Heartbroken, even. Geralt didn’t like that, didn’t like the way the bard looked like he was preparing for it. Like Geralt could ever turn Jaskier down. 

“And I know, you say you don’t need anyone and that you don’t want anyone needing you, so I won’t push it.” He sighed. “I’ll be gone before morning.”

Geralt started to protest, but Jaskier raised a hand to stop him. 

“You don’t have to say anything, Geralt. Really.” The way Jaskier was looking up at him, a half-hearted smile that fell quickly, eyes big and sad and spilling over. Geralt was glad when Jaskier looked back to the sky, if only because he was sure he’d cry himself if he’d had to see that ache any longer. “I’ll get over it, and then maybe, a few years from now, we can continue to travel together.” 

“Jaskier _-”_

“Just, before you break my heart, would you do me one thing? Hold me, for a moment. Let me pretend, even if just for a second, that you could love me back. I think that would be enough, could get me through a few winters until my heart healed-”

“ _Jaskier_ , would you _shut up_?!” 

The bard looked over at him dumbly. 

_Fucking finally. Now I can speak._

Except, Geralt had no idea what to say to the man. He just stared dumbly back at Jaskier for a few moments, panting, wondering when he’d gotten so out of breath. 

“Don’t,” he said, and then winced because _not enough words, Geralt._ He cleared his throat and tried again. “Don’t leave. I- don’t want you to.”

“Why on earth not?” Jaskier asked, confused. “I’m fairly certain you don’t want me here _now_ , especially not with all my messy emotions-”

“Stop assuming what I do and don’t want!” he roared, frustrated, and sat up. Jaskier snapped his mouth shut. “All my life, I have allowed people to. Let others judgement make my decisions for me. The humans assumed I shouldn’t _need_ emotions, so they decided I didn’t have any. They reasoned this made me no better than the monsters I chased, so they decided I was one. And when it’s not scared townsfolk, it’s destiny. I don’t need another choice taken from me, Jaskier.”

“Geralt- Geralt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I choose you, you fool.” He turned to look at his bard. “You are loud, and meddlesome, and waste money on simple luxuries, but you’ve become the only control I’ve ever had over my life. I will not lose that because you won’t shut up long enough for me to tell you I-”

“Yes,” the word stole out of Jaskier unbidden. 

“That I-”

“Go on,” another breathy request. Jaskier sounded dizzy with nerves, excitement-- reeked of it, too. 

“Jaskier, it’s you.” Geralt sighed. “It’s always been you.”

“ _Oh._ ” 

Time stood still for a moment, both of them just staring at each other in the moonlight. Jaskier’s heartbeat nearly stopped, Geralt’s exasperation dissipating. 

And then, all at once, they surged forward, colliding hungrily.

It was a mess; too much tongue too soon and their teeth kept clacking, but neither could bring themselves to stop. Jaskier had all but flung himself into Geralt’s lap, hands immediately flying to his hair to tangle and fist and _pull_ \-- Geralt groaned and tightened his grip on Jaskier’s waist, drawing him closer, closer, until the bard’s chest was flush with his. And that’s when he noticed the bard was hiccuping with squashed attempts to catch his breath. 

“Jask,” he rasped, pulling back slightly. Jaskier just chased after him, determined not to break their kiss. “Jask,” he tried again, amused. “You need to breathe.”

“No I don’t,” he responded, and then reconnected their mouths with a rather forceful tug on Geralt’s hair. Geralt grunted, surprised by his strength, and felt Jaskier moan against his mouth, “need _you_ , need _more_ ,” then bite his bottom lip. 

“Jask-” 

Geralt planted a firm hand on his chest to hold him back, creating a perfect view of how absolutely wrecked the bard looked. Pink-cheeked and sweaty, doublet unravelled and open, his undershirt rumpled and untucked. All after just one kiss. Geralt couldn’t stop his mind from picturing what the bard would look if they went any further-- spread out and open, skin still glowing under the moonlight, revealed just for him. Head thrown back, long neck exposed for Geralt to bite into and mark--

Jaskier whined, eyes opened and lips scrunched into a pout. He looked like a child who’d had his toy ripped from his hands-- Geralt imagined he felt much the same. With a snort, he pushed Jaskier’s fringe back from where it was plastered to his forehead then cupped his cheek. 

“Breathe, lark,” and though Jaskier flushed deeper at the pet name, he obeyed. Geralt watched as he struggled to catch his breath, transfixed by the slip of his undershirt. It created a window through which Geralt spied the way Jaskier’s sharp collarbone would protrude with every rise of his chest, then sink back into smooth skin. The sight was hypnotic-- almost erotic; it drew Geralt in, drew his lips closer until he was kissing along his clavical like worship. Jaskier craned his neck to give him more room, breath hitching with renewed moans, but it wasn’t enough. He released one of Jaskier’s hips to push his undershirt further aside and then bit down at the end, sinking his canines into the soft meat of his shoulder. Jaskier cried out and arched against him. 

“You bastard,” Jaskier panted, looking down at Geralt with pupils blown wide. “You really expect me to catch my breath while you’re doing _that_?”

Geralt grinned up at him wolfishly and worked his way back up to his neck, switching between kissing and biting every time his lips met skin. Jaskier let out the most sinful noises, punctuating each nip by grinding down against Geralt’s thigh and keening loudly. 

“Geralt-” Jaskier cried, then interrupted himself with a piercing whine as Geralt slipped a calloused hand beneath his shirt and raked his nails teasingly down his belly. He caught his hand before it slipped below Jaskier’s belly button, much to the bard’s vexation, and instead toyed with his chest hair, curling it around his fingers and gently tugging. Jaskier let out another whine. “Ger _alt_.”

Another mischievous grin. “What, little lark?”

“You know damn well _what_ ,” Jaskier huffed, turning his head again as Geralt started a new path down the other side of his neck, this time biting harder. Jaskier cried out. 

“Do I?” 

“Oh, you ass.”

“Always have such kind words for me.” Geralt laughed when Jaskier slapped his shoulder and let up, but not before leaving one final, bruising bite into his other shoulder. He pressed his next words into the skin there, voice a barely-restrained growl, “Want you to say it.”

Jaskier hauled him up by the hair again to kiss him ferociously, letting one hand fall away to pull at his shirt, and once it fell untucked, he wasted no time in pressing his palms against every expanse of skin he could reach. He ran his hands over Geralt’s stomach, up his chest, across to grip his shoulder beneath the shirt. Eventually, he abandoned Geralt’s hair all together just so he could dedicate both hands to mapping every scar adorning the body beneath him. Geralt huffed out a laugh and leaned back to pull his shirt off completely, muscles flexing purposefully. Jaskier hastily followed suit, ogling him openly as he flung his shirt somewhere beside them. His hands immediately returned to trace every ab before eventually working their way to his back. He smoothed his way up to his shoulders, palms never lifting from his skin. Once he reached his target, he sunk his nails into his skin and clawed at Geralt, dragging them down slowly, letting the witcher feel it. Geralt yelped at the burn, at the heat churning in his belly, and bit his way into Jaskier’s laughing mouth. 

“Say it,” he demanded. 

“I want- _Geralt_!”

“ _Say it_.”

“Oh, just fuck me already!” Jaskier shouted, foul-mouthed and impatient as ever. He reclaimed his hold on Geralt’s hair and yanked, his entire head falling back to expose his neck. Then, Jaskier did something that had Geralt dizzy with lust: he licked a solid line from the base of his neck to under his chin, _bit down on his chin_ , then turned the witcher’s head to whisper, “I want you to fuck me until the only thing I remember how to say is your name,” into his ear.

Now, Geralt’s incredibly fast. 

He’s moved at speeds that could far outpace the fastest animal known, an incredible necessity when facing down some of the most ungodly creatures-- monsters so fast, they could cut in front of light. 

But Geralt could say with honest conviction that he had never moved faster than right in that moment, grabbing Jaskier’s hips and flipping them over, pinning the smaller man down. And Jaskier looked- well, Jaskier looked obscene beneath him. Shirtless and panting, hair swept back and eyes hooded, working a bloody bottom lip between unfairly white teeth. Geralt braced his weight on one hand and smeared the blood with his thumb. 

“You look _so good_ like this,” Geralt lauded, raking his gaze down the bards body with an appreciative hum. “Pliat, waiting, _wanting_. You should do this more.”

Jaskier threw his head back and moaned, Geralt’s name and distant, half-finished pleas falling off his lips like a profane litany, and Geralt grinned sharply. 

“Yes, exactly like that, songbird.” He leaned down to Jaskier’s ear and nipped at it playfully before whispering, “Tonight, I’m gonna make you _sing_.”

And so he did. 

When they awoke, wrapped in each other and bathed in the golden light of late morning, Jaskier turned over and beamed. 

“Good morning,” he purred, hands skating down Geralt’s chest. Geralt breathed a snort and caught Jaskier’s hands before they could work up any further mischief. Instead, he tangled their fingers together and rested them in the space between their bodies. Jaskier gazed at the set that landed at their eye level with a loaded expression, then met Geralt’s eyes over them, utterly besotted. 

“Hi,” he said in a whisper. 

“Hi yourself,” Geralt rumbled back, this time unafraid of the affection that filled his heart. A smile tugged at Jaskier’s lips and Geralt felt himself mirroring it. 

They were quiet a moment, eyes never leaving each other, drinking their partner in. Something stirred in Geralt’s memory, like deja vu, but this time Jaskier could see him right back. 

“I didn’t get to say this last night before- well, before I was thoroughly ravished,” he snickered, pushing at Geralt’s pec with their other clasped hands. Geralt laughed with him, but soon Jaskier sobered. “But I wanted to say that-” 

Geralt felt his heart flutter, an usual staccato in his normal slow heartbeat. 

“I choose you, too,” Jaskier finished, peering up at him earnestly. “Every time, probably for forever.”

His heartbeat stopped altogether. Geralt stared in shock at the bard, heart full to burst, then released his hands to draw Jaskier into his chest. Jaskier curled around him, face pressed into his neck and gentled kisses there, and Geralt buried his nose in his hair, inhaling the sweet scent of soft meadows, springtime jasmine, and- 

Was that-?

Oh, it was. Gods, he didn’t think it’d still be there. 

“You have cum in your hair,” Geralt stated, pulling back a little.

“Ger _alt_!” Jaskier squawked, immediately wriggling in his grasp trying to sit up. Geralt wouldn’t let him go, though. “Unhand me at _once_ , Witcher, or I’ll _show_ you a monster.”

A laugh broke from his throat and he let it, thoroughly amused by the way it only seemed to make Jaskier bluster more. After dragging out his bard’s annoyance a bit longer, he finally released him, watching with lazy eyes as Jaskier bounded away, stark naked to the nearby stream. Geralt let his eyes drift closed again, happiness curling warm in his belly for the first time in a very, very long time. When he heard Jaskier stumbled back, he blinked and gaped dumbly at the bard. 

“What?” Jaskier bristled, looking less confident stripped down than just a moment before. He shrugged into himself, arm unconsciously raised to his chest. Right beneath his fingertips laid a necklace of developing bruises, spanning shoulder to shoulder and up to the jut of his jawline, all in the shape of Geralt’s teeth. The sight stirred memories of the night before and Geralt twitched with interest, pupils no doubt blown wide. Jaskier frowned, then looked down at himself. When he finally caught sight of the state of his shoulders, he laughed. “You brute, these’ll take weeks to fade.”

“Good,” Geralt grunted. Then, lifting the blanket he’d draped over them the night before, he beckoned the bard closer. “Come here.”

Jaskier sighed indulgently and joined him on the bedrolls, but the moment Geralt tried to kiss him, he tutted and pulled back. “You better avoid my hair this time.”

“No promises,” he said, ignoring the bard’s cries of protest and enclosing him in the blanket once again. “Mm, you’re cold.”

“Guess you’ll have to warm me up, then.”

“I can think of a few ways,” Geralt said, ghosting a hand up Jaskier’s inner thigh. 

“Tease,” he grouched. Then, “Kiss me.”

And so he did. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a bit of a slump these past weeks, probably because I started new meds and I'm still getting used to them. Hopefully, I'll be in tip-top shape very soon, with more stories to come! Fingers crossed!
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel my will to live! I've especially enjoyed reading the lovely things you've all had to say about my previous works. They bring such big smiles to my face, make me laugh, make me dance with giddiness, and most importantly make me want to write more! I treasure every comment I get, so don't be shy about what you have to say. It could be anything or nothing, just incoherent strings of texts and emojis, or (as one hilariously commented! Seriously, still not over it) a paragraph in Tolkein Elvish. 
> 
> Anyway, have a good day/night! xo


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